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T it dawned on me I was about to die came a couple of years into my 20s, at a time when everything was beginning. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had recently moved there for work. Thrilled to see each other, and enjoying the thought of the social gathering to come, we talked incessantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We placed our luggage – containing vital items such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a cosy two-seater. About 50 minutes into our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were standing up in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Head down, eyes screwed shut, I expected the carriage to flip and explode, like in the movies. I recall pondering our relatives and companions hearing the tragic update. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I whispered, my voice sounding croaky. “The worst has passed,” I whispered, more to myself than her.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I moved to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, the warning came after the fact. I saw a man with blood all over his face. An enormous piece of metal had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, leading to the derailment.

Our compartment was trapped with its front end in the air. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, where children were being evacuated to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, as it transpired had been in the toilet during the incident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. Another traveler sat down heavily on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – but, by good fortune our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we made our way in a free cab to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had broken Helen’s case. Our university friend greeted us, pale with worry. She had heard there had been a derailment and a guard had taken her into his office and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

With the invincibility of youth, we pushed the derailment from our minds and proceeded with the social outing, which involved a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, although several people were transported to the hospital. Helen and I sustained only bruises and aches and pains from the violent forward motion in the carriage. The locomotive was decelerating to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in preventing major harm. Given that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus on the “what ifs” but the child was the one who changed my outlook profoundly. Attending to her and reassuring her shifted my focus outward and showed me the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. Over the years, I have often wondered if she recalled any details, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have stayed close for over 30 years and "Pudsey" is now our code word for our capacity to handle any situation, provided we have each other. Being with her that day created the sensation that I was protected from the full horror of the event. The crash also changed the way I approach various difficult situations, offering me a new viewpoint – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to age.